


Unmistakably

by sciencefictioness



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Anonymous Sex, Comeplay, Glory Hole, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Mutual Pining, Sex Club, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:08:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23072206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sciencefictioness/pseuds/sciencefictioness
Summary: Sojiro is out of town on clan business, and it has Genji at ease in ways he cannot be when their father is nearby.  There is no tension, no fear.No promise of agony if he makes the slightest misstep.  No red eyes waiting in the darkness.Come here little sparrow.There is work to do.Sometimes work was a blade in his hand.Sometimes it was not.  Genji doesn’t think of it; Sojiro is hundreds of miles away, and there is no room for him in Genji, now.Hanzo watches him as they circle each other, eyes flitting from Genji’s feet to his hands to his face.  There is something feline in the way he moves. In the wide, impossible black of his pupils. Some of Hanzo’s hair is spilling from the bun he’s tied it up in, clinging to his neck and falling in his face.  His cheeks are flushed, his lips parted. Hanzo’s gi is loose from Genji’s pawing, exposing part of his chest, the blue edges of his tattoo visible. He is panting, breathless in disarray.He is so gorgeous it hurts to look at him.Genji wants him so much it feels like he might break
Relationships: Genji Shimada/Hanzo Shimada
Comments: 16
Kudos: 135





	Unmistakably

There’s blood in his mouth, his split lip dripping gore down his chin. Genji wipes it away with the back of his hand, watches it smear crimson across his knuckles. He smiles wide, pink in his teeth, tonguing at the cut with euphoria sailing through him. It isn’t often someone manages to land on him.

It only happens when he fights Hanzo.

“Is that all?” Genji asks, grinning. The dojo is empty save the two of them. Quiet except for the sound of their breathing. 

The rest of Shimada castle is mostly still— the elders who stay there have retired for the night. The guards calmly make their rounds. There is no need to follow Genji and Hanzo around when they are safe within the castle walls.

Sojiro is out of town on clan business, and it has Genji at ease in ways he cannot be when their father is nearby. There is no tension, no fear. 

No promise of agony if he makes the slightest misstep. No red eyes waiting in the darkness.

_ Come here little sparrow. _

_ There is work to do. _

Sometimes work was a blade in his hand.

Sometimes it was not. Genji doesn’t think of it; Sojiro is hundreds of miles away, and there is no room for him in Genji, now.

Hanzo watches him as they circle each other, eyes flitting from Genji’s feet to his hands to his face. There is something feline in the way he moves. In the wide, impossible black of his pupils. Some of Hanzo’s hair is spilling from the bun he’s tied it up in, clinging to his neck and falling in his face. His cheeks are flushed, his lips parted. Hanzo’s gi is loose from Genji’s pawing, exposing part of his chest, the blue edges of his tattoo visible. He is panting, breathless in disarray.

He is so gorgeous it hurts to look at him.

Genji wants him so much it feels like he might break.

He lunges, catching Hanzo just right, taking his feet out from under him. In a fight, Hanzo is faster than Genji, stronger than Genji, smarter than Genji. The sense of victory he gets has nothing to do with his fists.

Genji only catches Hanzo when he wants to be caught. 

They both go down in a tangle of limbs, but the way he pins Hanzo to the tatami isn’t anything their teachers showed them. Genji presses Hanzo’s wrists above his head, hips slotted together, Hanzo’s chest rising and falling rapidly. There is nothing left of Hanzo’s iris, all of it swallowed up with want. Genji drags his nose up Hanzo’s jaw— Genji is hard, has been for a while now.

Hanzo is, too; Genji can feel him, arching instinctively forward, seeking friction. He grinds into him, listening to Hanzo’s breath hitch, the shocked little whine he lets out.

“Anija,” he purrs, hips rolling, reveling in the way Hanzo lets his thighs drop wider.  _ “Please,  _ anija.”

It has been months since Genji first kissed him. Months since Hanzo let him, Genji crawling into his bed, bruised and sore from Sojiro’s fury. 

_ Hanzo, please, I need you,  _ and Hanzo had let Genji shove in close and bring their mouths together.

Hanzo had held Genji as he clung, and shivered, and then the next morning he’d been gone again, and Genji had been alone. After that it was like nothing had ever happened. Hanzo keeps his distance. He won’t meet Genji’s eyes.

It is so much worse than before, now that he knows the warm comfort of Hanzo’s mouth, and the familiar splay of his hands. No one else will ever be enough.

There is only Hanzo. Genji knows he’s broken, but that doesn’t change anything. 

He wants what he wants.

He wants Hanzo. He kisses Hanzo’s jaw, the corner of his mouth. 

“Need you so bad,” he whispers, sliding his hands up Hanzo’s wrists until their fingers are tangled together. Genji squeezes, and Hanzo squeezes back.

Genji tries to press their lips together, and Hanzo turns his face away. 

“Genji,” he says. It’s hushed. Apologetic.

Genji closes his eyes, forehead laid against Hanzo’s cheek, anguish sailing through him in a wave. He weathers it. Waits for it to roll back. 

Then he surges to his feet, turning to leave the dojo with his hands clenched into fists. He’s snarling in frustration, seething almost. He isn’t mad at Hanzo; it isn’t his fault.

Genji doesn’t know why he is this way— twisted up inside, put together wrong. Except that is a lie.

Genji knows why; he just doesn’t know how to stop.

“Genji,” Hanzo calls, still sitting on the floor, gi falling down off his shoulder, “where are you  _ going?” _

Genji laughs, already halfway down the hall.

“Out,” he replies, grinding his teeth so hard it hurts. “Anywhere but here.”

There is no one but Hanzo, but Genji can pretend.

-

He takes enough time to shake off his guards. They’re the very best, and it takes long enough that Genji is annoyed, but not long enough for him to give up. They wouldn’t stop him from going where he pleased, wouldn’t say a word about his choice of club, wouldn’t bat an eye at the things he did there.

Just because they wouldn’t stop him didn’t mean he always wanted them watching.

This particular club is somewhere he’s been a lot these past few months, trying to sate the emptiness Hanzo leaves in him. It doesn’t work but it is better than being at home, staring at the walls, stir-crazy and hating himself.

The lower levels of the club are packed with people, all of them noisy and dancing and drinking. Genji takes a couple of shots, lets a few strangers pull him out on the dance floor and move with him. Someone offers him a bump of coke, and he takes it without hesitation— it’s been cut all to shit, but it’s pleasant enough. Genji has more in his pocket if he wants; fresher, stronger.

More of the Shimada clan’s very best.

He’s not up for the effort it would take to have a one-night stand, though— not with someone he has to talk to, smile at, seduce. There are rooms for rent at the club, but even that has a limited appeal. He knows what he’s after.

It is why he comes here.

Genji heads up the stairs to the second level. The crowd is much less stifling there, dungeon furniture scattered everywhere, most of it occupied. There are cages and kneelers and spanking benches. Rows of hooks on the walls, more of them in the ceiling. People are strung up all over, some of them collared, their partners flogging them or petting through their hair or bending them over something to fuck them. It is nothing worth his time, tonight; Genji keeps climbing.

There are even fewer people on the third level. The rooms available for rent are down a darkened hallway, red LEDs running along the floor on either side. There are several exhibition rooms set up so patrons can watch scenes, and another room with a tiled floor, drains running around the edges, shower heads on the wall. Genji moves past it all without sparing them a glance.

The last room is mostly dark, the dim blue lights overhead casting everything in an ethereal glow, but it is bright enough that he can see what he’s looking at without straining. A club employee sits in one corner, giving him a nod but otherwise ignoring him. 

There is a row of half a dozen padded spanking benches along one wall, different from the ones he passed downstairs. Instead of being open on all sides, they are set up like stockades. Like pillories, or glory holes. When in use all that is visible of the person on the bench are their legs, their ass. Their lower back, maybe, depending on how they’ve positioned themselves. The rest of them is hidden by a wall that bisects the benches lengthwise.

There are a set of boards above the user, operated from the other side of the bench with levers, allowing the sub to raise them when they are ready to get in or out. Genji likes these better than the typical glory holes; he likes to touch. Likes the contact, but it is just as anonymous.

Just as easy to pretend he’s fucking Hanzo, instead of some random club-goer.

There are only two benches in use. On the far right is a dom dressed in jeans with leather chaps over them, enthusiastically railing the sub there. All Genji can see of the sub is a pair of black combat boots, legs jerking as the dom pounds into them. Further to the left is another dom, slapping a sub’s ass lightly as he tucks himself back into his pants. He mutters something low that Genji can’t hear as he turns. Then he sees Genji there and smirks, nodding his head towards the sub on the bench.

“That one’s a fucking mess,” he says, winking and nudging Genji’s shoulder as he leaves the room. 

Genji moves to stand in front of the sub, looking them over with his bottom lip bitten between his teeth. They’re wearing long black stockings, solid and stretched tightly around muscular thighs. Other than that they’re barefooted, delicate ankles and high arches, toes shifting as they stretch. Genji palms himself through his pants, rubbing his hand over his burgeoning arousal. 

“You done for the night?” Genji asks, eyes lingering on the generous swell of their ass, flushed pink like someone had been spanking it as they fucked them. 

There are fingerprints, a patchwork of them all over the skin. The dom who’d walked off hadn’t been the first person to take advantage of what was on offer here— the sub is visibly open, gaping slightly where they’ve been used. They’re filthy with come, skin shining with sweat. Genji wouldn’t be surprised if they weren’t up for anything more.

The sub makes a soft noise of surprise, though, lifting their hips higher in offering. Their toes curl, back arching. There are a set of LEDs just above eye level for Genji; green, yellow, red. The green light is glowing. It flicks off, then back on again, and Genij smiles.

He steps forward, running his hand up the outside of their thigh, digging his fingers into the meat of it. Sometimes, it is hard to imagine whatever faceless stranger he is fucking is Hanzo, but this will be easy. Genji takes a moment to grab their ass with both hands, pulling them open and staring.

“You  _ are  _ a mess,” he says, slipping two fingers into them. They go in effortlessly; the sub is loose, and wet. They whine, rocking back into Genji’s touch. He can only see a fraction of their back before it vanishes under the wood of the stocks above the bench, but Genji can tell they’re breathing faster. He presses a third finger in, stretching them, pushing deeper then dragging out slowly. Their thighs tremble, and Genji hears them gasp.

“You still want more?” They make a noise that sounds wounded, and the light in front of Genji flickers green once, twice. Three times. They twitch weakly around his fingers. “Can you even feel it?” He’s not trying to be derisive, even if it sounds that way. There’s another animal sound. They lift a foot up off the bench, hooking an ankle around Genji and tugging him forward as best they can. There is strength in the gesture. Urgency. “Okay,” Genji says with a laugh, rubbing his free hand soothingly up and down their thigh. “Alright.”

Genji closes his eyes and tugs himself out of his clothes, stroking himself to hardness as he thinks of Hanzo. 

Hanzo wet and open, rocking back into him. Hanzo letting out desperate little whines. He runs his tongue over his palm to slick himself before lining up and pushing into them, grabbing roughly at their ass with one hand, guiding himself with the other. 

“Fuck,” Genji breathes as he buries himself deep, warmth surrounding him, still tight enough to make him dizzy. “You still feel so good, even wrecked like this.” 

They shake all over, like the praise is too much. Like they are hungry for it, the same way they are hungry for everything else. Genji starts out slow, moving languidly. His hair falls in his eyes, but he doesn’t brush it away. He doesn’t want to let go. The dom to his right seems to be finishing up, noisier than before, but Genji pays no mind to anything but the body in front of him. It is a stranger, but Genji is used to pretending.

Hanzo swallowing every last inch of him. Hanzo urging him closer, harder, faster. He clings to their thighs, the stockings soft under his hands. They’re obviously tired, but they’re still moving with him, trying to take everything Genji will give them. The punched out whimpers are getting louder, their thighs trembling more.

Genji swears low, fucking into them harder. They’re like silk around him; hot, and perfect, and eager to please. His head lolls forward on his shoulders, breath coming faster. The fabric of their stockings shifts as he clings, sliding lower, skin on skin. 

It hasn’t been all that long since he got laid, but he isn’t going to last. Something about the way Hanzo looked before Genji left, wild-eyed and expectant.

Genji glances down and furrows his brows. There is dark blue ink curling around the outside of the sub’s thigh, peeking over the hem of the stockings. Scales, and storm clouds. Genji has seen it a thousand times; in the baths. When they spar. 

Hanzo, clinging to his hands on the floor of the dojo.

Hanzo, choking out his name.

_ “Genji.” _

It’s so quiet Genji barely hears it over the roaring in his ears. 

It is so adoring, Genji loses his breath. He shoves the loose stocking down until it is bunched up around the sub’s knee.

Around Hanzo’s knee. Genji drags his palm over the dragon he finds there, savage joy filling him— spilling over into his blood and lungs, the spaces between his teeth. The ink swirls around Hanzo’s thigh, curls over his calf, twists around his ankle. It is beautiful. Hanzo is beautiful.

Hanzo knows where Genji goes, what Genji does.

Hanzo knows what Genji wants, and where to wait for him.

“Anija,” he says, voice trembling like the rest of him, curling his hands around Hanzo’s thighs. Hanzo tenses. Twitches, and mewls, and doesn’t even try to get away.  _ “Anija,”  _ Genji says again, forehead pressed against the wall in front of him as he curls in on himself.

Hanzo pulling on tight black stockings to hide his tattoos. Hanzo slinking through the crowd underneath them to find his place upstairs.

Hanzo letting strangers fuck him in hopes that Genji might, too. Genji wonders about the other nights he’s left Hanzo on the floor of the dojo or soaking in the baths, flushed cheeks and splayed thighs. Nights he spent dancing, or going home with some unsatisfying one night stand, rather than seeking out someone here. Genji wonders if Hanzo came to the club when he did not— waiting for him to no avail, then going home aching and used.

Genji’s jaw shivers, and he rocks forward into Hanzo again, shuddering all over.  _ Hanzo  _ is like silk around him.  _ Hanzo  _ is hot, and perfect, and eager to please. He reaches around Hanzo as best he can with the bench in the way and closes a palm over the swell of his cock. Hanzo is hard, dripping over Genji’s fingers.

It is Genji’s turn to whine like an animal, and once he starts making noise, he doesn’t really stop again. He’s breathing loud, grinding into Hanzo, whimpering out his name. Begging,  _ anija, please.  _ Feeling the way Hanzo shakes. 

Genji has imagined fucking Hanzo a thousand times, and it was never like this in his daydreams, but there is no regret in him.

He has him, now. He won’t let him go.

“How long did you wait for me?” Genji asks, fingers bruising on Hanzo’s skin. “Oh, Hanzo.”

Genji barely lasts another minute, burying himself as far as he can inside Hanzo and coming so hard he feels it in his jaw. His ears ring, and he’s dizzy, and as soon as he starts pulsing warm and wet, Hanzo is coming, too. The world whites out and disappears. Genji stands there a long time, gasping for air, sweat matting his hair against his face as he traces the lines of Hanzo’s tattoo with filthy, quaking fingers. Dragons. Lightning.

“Don’t run,” Genji pleads, whisper quiet against the constant pulse of bass and the lurid flashing of lights. “I need to see you.” There is no answer for a while.

Then the lights above his head flicker green. Once. Twice. It’s enough that some of the desperation in him eases back.

Genji pulls out, grabbing Hanzo’s ass to tug him apart with his thumbs, watching his come drip out. He presses his fingers into the mess, helpless to resist the impulse. It is obscene, the way he opens. The heat of it, the slickness. Hanzo whines, rocking forward away from his touch.

_ “God,  _ anija,” Genji hisses.

The board above the bench lifts, giving Hanzo enough room to pull himself forward, through to the other side. There is no easy way to get to Hanzo, not without trying to climb through the opening on the bench, which the club employee in the corner would certainly have opinions about. The set-up is specifically designed so that either party can leave the club without the other being able to find them right away. Hanzo will have to go downstairs, exiting either onto the dance floor or out into the alley. Genji doesn’t wait.

Genji runs.

Down the stairs, weaving through the crowd, flying out into the night. Hanzo isn’t going to navigate dozens of energetic club-goers, not shaky and mussed the way he is right now. 

Not fragile, and well fucked. The cold is sharp as Genji circles the club, running down an alley towards one of the rear entrances. 

Hanzo is there, a hood pulled over his head, breath fogging in the chill. It is Genji’s hoodie he’s wearing. Genji’s fingerless gloves. Genji’s shining black boots.

Hanzo had dug through Genji’s closet, and put on his clothes. 

His hair is tangled around his face, and there is a flush high in his cheeks. He is wild-eyed, just like when he was underneath Genji in the dojo. He is so gorgeous it hurts to look at him.

Genji wants him so much it feels like he might break.

When Genji gets close, he doesn’t turn away.

Genji presses Hanzo into the brick wall behind him, bringing their mouths together in a searing kiss. Hanzo makes a surprised noise but doesn’t resist, letting Genji coax his lips apart, and tilt his head to the side.

“Hanzo,” Genji says. He just wants to hear it, like it makes Hanzo more real. Genji cups Hanzo’s cheeks, Hanzo’s fingers closed around his wrists. They are both frantic. Hanzo whines. “Let’s go somewhere. Not home. Come— come with me. Hanzo, please.”

He needs to spread Hanzo out on a bed. Needs to kiss him slow, take his time. Hanzo nods— it’s hesitant, but not uncertain. 

“Alright,” he says. Genji closes his eyes and tucks his face into Hanzo’s throat.

Genji only catches Hanzo when he wants to be caught. 

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me nice things, here or on twitter


End file.
